


Fate won’t let you die

by aucellaq



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Attempted Suicide, Blood and Gore, Comfort, Happy Ending, au in which caleb finds what he's looking for and immediatly loses it, talking out of suicide, the deck of many things, very very sad beginning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 12:22:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17365748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aucellaq/pseuds/aucellaq
Summary: At last, Caleb finds a relic that can sieze reality by its throat and right all his wrongs. The Deck of Many Things is a rare find, especially containing The Fates card, one which is said to unwrap reality and give its beholder a chance to undo what has been done.But Caleb never gets his hands on it. Instead he watches it burn and with it loses all will to live. The Nein finds him and brings him back, but how can they talk this broken man back into living?





	Fate won’t let you die

**Author's Note:**

> @kouichikimura made a post on their tumblr about wanting a fic on Caleb trying to kill himself once he realizes he can't turn back/ change time, and like the whimp i am i went ahead and did it
> 
> this is p gory at the beginning im sorry it just ran away from me
> 
> as always: no betas we die like men
> 
> Note: before anyone says Nott seems out of char, please go back to the ep where we get Caleb´s backstory and watch her reaction afterward, since what she says here is very much a reflection of that.

It was too late.

 The final cards burned up before his very eyes. Moments after he learned of the single, tiniest chance to finally achieve what he’d dreamt – what he’d been dreading, they stole it from him with his own weapon. Little cards with giant stakes. Just seconds ago, his aching heart had peace, but now as ashes settled with dust, he was stone, he was broken, he was nothing.

 Thinking it was another one of his panic attacks settling in, the Nein made sure he was escorted back and had a soft bed to awake in. How far had they gone from the empire for this? How close was the war now?

 How much different, could everything have been now?

 Caleb was not in panic. He was floating and he was falling, slapped by wind as the ocean drowned his soul. He was faceless and bare, laying on top of cold sheets that should be covering his numbing body. All he saw was himself and the grave, waiting.

 Not even myths had described the deck of many things. Never before had he felt the slap of knowledge hit and so immediately known the chances of failure. _Flames. Donjon. Talon. Ruin._ And at the very same time, never had he felt relief so deeply it made warmer than his own fire.

 The second his spell had finished reading the final object of the room, the second he knew there were twenty-two cards in the deck, that’s when the bandit set it on fire. Somehow, they’d broken free of Fjord and Beau´s trappings, only for their final deed being the destruction of Caleb´s first and final hope.

 Life had not prepared him for what true shame felt like, when the faint faces of his parents vanished for good.

  _The Fates_

 Caleb shivered, the first sign that he was still alive, and it felt like a punishment. Memories flooded him. Trostenwald had the greenest summers one could imagine. Hills rolling by streams giving him room to walk, run and sprint for years before he was of age. The sun reflecting the bluest water putting his oil paintings to shame. Una, laughing and cooing over his scraped shin that he’d cried over because of the sound that made him fall, not the burning hurt. Leofric, shaking his head but not his smile, as he found bandages to cover inches of nothing. A kiss over the wound.

 Reality´s fabric could have unraveled at his fingers and spun time back.

 The Fates could have stopped the flames. The Fates could have slapped him. The Fates should have killed him instead.

 Caleb sat upright, back straight as a board. Every breath he took was another he didn’t deserve, and yet he was stealing the air into his lungs and pushing it back out like a selfish prick. He groaned in agony, feeling no pain but that of regret.

 It can never be undone; therefore, he must be.

 He noticed his fingers tighten to fists. His bandages were bloody and tattered from his own scratching and pull. He lit a flame in his palm and it burnt away. The wounds were scorched but he felt so cold. At once his teeth felt sharp as a wolf´s and he bit the skin up so a rip tore across the side of his thumb, and he was hissing out a howl when the pain hit for real. He didn’t realize how much he was starving. The pink of his flesh versus the red boil of his blood were in a race to see what could be the first to stop him, or the first to keep him begging for more.

 He kept at it, ripping at himself. The clothes then the skin, his flesh and his beating heart, breathing like a thief he was. Once in rags, he felt the flames build and knew this was it. Blood had made a mess of the room. The final burden he would leave was a hell of a cleaning job.

 It was one last chance. To make this life, these years he’d wasted by living, into something worth the time. If he ignited himself and burned the hollow restless soul, he might see them long enough to apologize. The flames played at his blackened fingers again when a gasp snapped him out of it.

 Caleb hadn’t noticed his own tears, his own agony, but it hit him then, when Nott stood in the door with a terror greater than giants in her yellow eyes. That was when Caleb realized what he looked like. The blood, the torn clothes, bitten in nails mistaken for claws. Voices inside of him screamed at her – sneered and shouted profanities. How dared she interrupt when it was finally going to end?

 But when he saw he wet lines on her cheeks, he fell to his knees and whimpered, “ _Please_.”

 

 

 For a long time, all Caleb knew was the feeling of being held. Small bony arms cradling him close as the shrill voice of a woman he had always admired called out for help. His wounds closing up as another set of arms tumbled to hold his shaking form, a sweet sugary voice crying as it whispered apologies and love. A startled, angry yell, full of blame and self-hatred, not shut down until a firm form entered the picture and held it back. He was hugged all ways around by crying, soft whispers, hisses and silence. Seven people called nine filled the room, but all that filled Caleb was holes. Their regret was not contagious. Two voices fought their memories to dig up a story they’d been told without warning, trying to explain the rest of them the reason, as they themselves searched for an answer to why.

 Why?

 Caleb opened his eyes though he was already seeing. They fretted around the room, and he realized he was not in a room, but their travelling cart, somewhere far out on the country swallowed by darkness but lit by the moon. Nobody led the horses, because nobody was in the front seat. The whole crew was bundled around him like lazy cats, so he was not surprised to find Frumpkin in his arms, looking right back at him with those quizzical, curious eyes of his.

 It took a while to remember it all, but once he did, his voice woke them all up.

 “Why did you make me live?”

 Beau sat right up, fully alert like she hadn’t slept a second. The bags under her eyes suggested the same. Anger flashed her face, but then softened to something frail, and then she was crying. She took her bundled up rope used for a pillow and threw it at his chest with a soundless bump.

 “You _fucking_ asshole,” she stuttered.

 The rest stirred but slower, and he noticed Frumpkin was the only one who’d slept close to him. They’d all sacrificed their comfort to stay as far from him as possible. He didn’t understand. He was _so_ sure.

 “Caleb,” Nott began, her voice nothing but a broken thing, but it came no further as she broke apart crying for what was probably not the first time, as Jester jumped to comfort her with a deep embrace.

 “He’s awake now,” Jester whispered into her dark hair, “We’re not letting him go anywhere, I promise.”

 Her sobs beat on his ribcage like a hammer, breaking open his chest and exposing it to every bit of pity that he found in the eyes of his team. His supposed friends, who didn’t understand anything at all. He sat up.

 “They burned it up, don’t you understand?” he spit, bitterness slipping over him like an old cloak. “I am nothing now. I am not worth the time you’ve already spend on me, let alone all you did to get me back. _Why_ could you not let a dead man die?”

 The anger returned to Beau as she lounged at him, not leaving a chance in hell to let the others stop her, and Caleb certainly didn’t. he wanted every blow she’d throw at him, and was almost disappointed when she took him by the collar of a shirt he didn’t own, pulling his face to hers. “Are you listening to yourself? Huh? Do you think we’re all a bunch of heartless dickheads who’ll find their friend inches from death and just leave him? Why won’t that giant brain of yours realize we fucking _care_?”

 Beau was violent with her words the way she was with her fists. So quick and hard hitting, not sparing a second to build tensions before making the killing blow. Except instead of killing him Beau held his life at top priority. Nobody moved to stop her.

 “We didn’t follow you into the asshole of the wilderness, just so you can give up the moment things go wrong. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

 A heavy hand fell on her shoulder, and she did not resist as Caduceus pulled her back. The tear streak on his friendly, pink furred face was an unwelcome surprise leaving Caleb breathless. Beau muttered curses and insults, trying to deal with the anger the only way she knew. Had Caleb been a bandit, he’d surely be dead now.

 Soon as he saw Fjord move in the corner of his eye, Caleb grabbed the wall of the cart and skipped out on the cold grass, finding himself back on his knees, grabbing his body close as the pain struck like lightning into his skin.

 “Easy, Jester and Caduceus hadn’t had a chance to rest after the battle, so you only got one round to stop the bleeding. You’re still hurt.”

 Caleb was cold again, but not because of the weather. His feeble from shook as Fjord kneeled beside him, placing a warm hand on his back, stroking up and down with such humble form. Yasha´s shadow follow him, engulfing Caleb in the dark.

 “Caleb,” Fjord said, so close to the edge he would only need a slight wind to fall, “What … happened?”

 Caleb did not know why his mouth opened. He was already wasting their time still breathing, but saying no to Fjord was an impossible thing. The Fates could have taken away that weakness. The Fates could have made Caleb steel. The Fates should have made his heart stop right then.

 “You know everything now, ja?” Silence told him yes. He laughed bitterly and full of pain. Fjord´s hand did not leave. “You all saw the man I was, that I was meant to be all along. I ripped to shreds the forgiveness the years have given me, because I can never change what I did. Not anymore.”

 He heaved for air, smitten with his own selfish desires to make things good and have a life back he didn’t deserve.

 “Those damn cards were it,” he spit, bruised and burnt hands digging feverously into the soil like he was hunting for gold. “So many useless items bruised the room, but the deck of many things was no sore spot. Ugly as it may have looked, it was the key to fix everything.”

 There was a grunt from the firbolg as he crawled to the edge of the cart, his long form peaking over at them.

 “Caleb, you know the chance to get the card you want is close to nothing, right?”

 Caleb nodded, pushing himself to sit back on his legs, somehow lighter when the questions didn’t cut him.

 “The Fates would have given me the chance to change everything. No punishment can deter that. I was willing to risk it. Now I cannot.”

 “So you’d rather die?” Fjord asked. His hand had fallen off on its own but his blank eyes were still holding on. “Caleb, killing yourself is not the answer.”

 “Why not?” Caleb argued, hating how his voice shook. “When I cannot chase the impossible hope of correction, I am useless to you. I will be a burden.”

 Fjord´s mouth opened ajar and trembling. When his eyes turned glassy and his breath hitched, he took Caleb by the shoulders and held on tight.

 “What are you saying? Think we only care about how much of the load you take?”

 “I am only –“

 “No, shut up. Shut the hell up.” Fjord tried to hold him harder, but his own weaknesses overwhelmed him, and the hands slid down Caleb´s bandaged arms. “We’re a team, Caleb. We’re your friends. I’m not keeping a fucking tally on how many blows I take for you, or all the times I’ve lied to cover your ass, or all the dumb fucking books we’ve stolen for you. I do it to protect you, to help, to see you light up a little more. You …”

 Fjord couldn’t hold him anymore, because Caleb´s face had not changed. The shock was ever-present, like he’d never heard anything like it. And he hadn’t.

 “Don’t lie to me, Fjord.”

 From the cart there was another bustle, but this time it followed a whine from Jester and a grunt from Nott.

 “Nott Please –“

 “No! I won’t be cradled in silk when he’s on the cold dirt!”

 Scrabbling of claws and shifting arms and legs brought the goblin woman over the edge and one sprint away from holding Caleb so tight he gasped. She ignored it for as long as she dared, before pulling away and taking his face in her hands.

 “It wasn’t your fault,” she whispered.

 Unlike Beau´s violence, Jesters guilt, Yasha´s silence, Caduceus´ pity and Fjord´s honesty; Nott was the one who when she cut into Caleb, he didn’t bleed.

 “The pain got too heavy – I get it I do – but I made you a promise and I refuse to let you down. You can’t forgive yourself, I see that now. Maybe you never will. All I ask instead, the only thing that I want you to do – nothing else! I ask for nothing else ever again!” She was sobbing again but held on stronger than her alcoholic breath. “Let go of it,” she said, low as it was just a brush of wind. “Changing it is not the answer, and it will only leave more pain. No one is asking you to forget about them, or what you did, but you can’t keep holding onto it. Moving on is hard, I know. The hardest thing you’ll ever do, but we won’t let you do it alone. We’ll be with you. But we can’t unless _you_ make the decision to let go.”

 Nott´s hands slowly slid off his face and she sniffed, quickly apologizing as she’d gotten grease on his chin. Like a good helping hand, Caduceus handed a light handkerchief that she used to clean it, then clean the ash and the dirt on his forehead, and as nobody stopped her, moved on to the hands as well, careful not to touch the bruises too much. Eventually the cloth was so full of dirt and grease left from the burns and slick of the crackled wound tissue, but stopping infections weren’t anyone´s top priority right now.

 Not a word was said. The horses were prepared, food was eaten, more fingers were cleaned. Fjord and Yasha mounted the extra horses and Caduceus grabbed the reins for the one pulling the cart, comfortably falling into his role as it’s guide.

 Caleb sat in the furthest corner and did not rest, flinching when his head bobbed and mumbling gibberish Zemnian to stay awake.

 Nott did not leave his side a moment, holding his hand clutched protectively in hers, sometimes answering his mumbles in Goblin.

 The ride was fruitless, with no battles of quizzical farmers to distract everyone´s dark thoughts. For a while Caleb just stared at Jester´s tail whipping slightly over the wall of the cart, as if daring him to sprint off again. Frumpkin nuzzled in his lab, content with the uneventful sun passing over them and lending him plenty warmth. Once Caleb thought of making him purr, thinking it might entertain at least one of the Nein, but his mind was as exhausted as his spent bones.

 He wondered what they all thought, knowing not just the truth of his past, but that he saw them all not as friends, but as resources and leverage. And yet he sat there, one moment after another passing by where he could easily slip out a knife and end it there and then, but didn’t. Beau fitfully slept against Jester, who was braiding flowers into her hair and singing to her.

 Caleb didn’t think he’d have anything left to tell them, until he did.

 “I … will try.”

 There was a small stir, and he expected a new attack, new tears, new ways to twist the dagger. He expected someone to snort and call him weak for not facing his actions. He expected something ravenous and violent and completely deserved.

 Instead he got Nott, clenching his hand a little tighter in hers, and Jester smiling to him softly.

 “Good start,” Caduceus said over his shoulder, then turned back to the horse. Fjord and Yasha nodded to him. Beau let out a snore.

 Caleb´s libs hurt, and usually he’d ignore it, so used to the friction in them, but he realized it was not on accident. He often prevented himself from smiling, forcing into the frown with brute anger, thinking he did not deserve it. Now the thought followed a different kind of pain, and he choked on the first sob and then the others, only noticing the presence of warmth when the night returned and one end of the cart was empty, abandoned by the Nein to surround him while he cried. Come morning, his hair was five braids and seven flowers richer, his hands were rebandaged, and he’d laughed out loud twice at Yasha´s attempt of lightening the mood with supposedly sweet stories of home. Nott never let his hand go. Even the Fates couldn’t make her.

**Author's Note:**

> i need like three drinks and 78hrs of sleep after this, wow
> 
> kudos and comments are as always a big support!
> 
> link to the post: http://kouichikimura.tumblr.com/post/181857878524/i-feel-like-i-will-actually-pay-anyone-right-now


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